Chapter 9
On the day of the Dimanche Gras Ball, Angel received a telegram from Damien.
"He's coming home!"
"When?" asked Verbena anxiously.
"He doesn't say. Oh, I wish he were here to take me to the Governor's Ball."
Angel had asked Terry to escort her to the Ball. He came to pick her up at the house, dressed as a plantation overseer.
"I thought that since you were going as Mrs. Palmer, I would complement your outfit."
He wore a hat made of palm leaves and a homespun shirt and trousers. After a cocktail, they drove down the mountainside to Montego Bay, where the streets were jammed with tourists and natives caught up in the spirit of Carnival. The loud calypso rhythms practically shook the trees as the revelers danced in front of the car, allowing the young couple to move only a few feet at a time. The masqueraders swarmed around the vehicle like ants around a sweet, banging melodies on the door of the car, crawling across the hood, and crying, "Dimanche Gras! Dimanche Gras!"
They reached the Governor's mansion, which had been decorated like a pirate's cave. Giant pieces of pink coral and hundreds of orchids were arranged around the entrance which was lit up by colored lights embedded in clusters of seashells.
The Governor, ludicrously dressed as a pirate captain complete with eye patch, came forward to greet them.
"Ho, ho, ho and a bottle of rum," he bellowed, winking lewdly with his remaining eye at Angel. "That's quite an authentic looking costume, Angel."
Angel laughed. "If I could only live up to her reputation."
"If you have any trouble, come and see me," the Governor said suggestively, squeezing her arm.
Angel pulled free from him and went into the ballroom. An Americanized native band was playing a waltz as couples were circling the floor. Angel and Terry descended the parquet steps that led to the dance floor and several people stopped dancing and looked at Angel. As they moved onto the floor, more people stopped and stared at her through their frivolous masks. Terry took her hand, pulled her to him, and they began to waltz. Terry swept her around the floor and the rest of the dancers stopped and watched them until they were the only ones dancing. Angel felt exhilarated. She closed her eyes and pretended she was dancing with Damien. The waltz became faster and the masks spun past her blending one into another.
"Stop," Angel said breathlessly. "We must stop."
The people parted to let them through. Several were clapping their hands. Terry guided Angel to an empty table and they sat down.
"Would you care for something cool to drink?" he asked.
She nodded and he left her alone at the table. When he returned, Terry had a huge grin on his face.
"Excuse me, Miss Angel, but there's somebody here to see you."
She looked up. Standing at the top of the stairs was Damien. They forced their way through the crowds of people until they stood facing one another. And in that moment, time melted away and they were once again young and in love.
Three days later Angel and Damien were married in a ceremony at Cinnamon Hall. A local minister officiated and Verbena, Roose and Terry were the only people present. At Angel's wish, the wedding took place in the gazebo. Verbena had gotten up at dawn to decorate the gazebo with boughs of honeysuckle and dogwood.
Angel wore a long, white chiffon gown which had belonged to her mother and Damien was handsomely dressed in a dark blue raw silk suit he had purchased in Paris. Verbena beamed happily as they were pronounced man and wife ... Mr. and Mrs. Damien Cilento. Verbena thought to herself, dem Marryin' Drops done worked.
Angel was the happiest person in the world. She felt that her brief, but wild experiences were behind her. She wanted to concentrate on loving Damien and loving Damien alone and having his children ...
SIXTEEN YEARS LATER
Suzanne Leveque Cilento thought it must be the most wonderful thing in the world to be fifteen. She was no longer a little girl. She felt she was on the brink of discovery—the discovery of herself.
No longer little girl dresses and little girl games. There were new games to play.
She sat down at her mother's dressing table and brushed her long, ash blond hair with her mother's silver-handled hair brush. Then she examined her skin for blemishes. There were none.
Her parents were in the village. Suzanne had locked the door and was trying on her mother's grown-up dresses. She posed and preened in front of the mirror trying to achieve a sophisticated look for the imaginary lovers in her life.
Bored with her game, she stripped out of her mother's cocktail dress and hung it back in the closet. She lay back on the bed nude and her fingers explored her young body. She spread her legs apart and flexed her pelvis. Her fingers slid down her stomach and touched her downy pubic hair. Gingerly they stroked her vaginal lips. She fantasized about the young man on the island who she and seen and been attracted to.
Her fingers began exploring the inner recesses of her young cunt. She longed to have a real lover. She toyed with the delicate tip of her clitoral bud and she threw her head back and forth on the bed in ecstasy. Suddenly her eyes fell upon the silver-handled hair brush glinting in the noonday sun ...